


and we have forever

by seasaltrox



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, oh and also Prompto is a bit reckless with how well he can control or not his MT side of him, set in a not so au au where they find out about prompto a bit earlier in, that's pretty much the only difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltrox/pseuds/seasaltrox
Summary: there's destruction in his blood and stone in his destiny, apart they're the Prince and the defective weapon, together they can be Noctis and Prompto; and that's all Noctis has ever wanted to be





	and we have forever

Prompto doesn’t like to dream. The night to him is a temptress -- comforting and warm -- surrounding him in a blanket of security. It’s like a temptress, at a weak moments notice -- his consciousness slipping, slipping, slipping… -- she impales him through his back, his subconsciousness betraying him along her side.

_You’re a weapon_ , it whispers. _You don’t deserve to be by their side. You’re a weapon. One day, their blood will surely bathe your hands._  

Prompto hates the nights he dreams. He loathes the nights he wakes up screaming, his hands clawing at the brace holding him down.

“It’s okay.” A voice best described as his oasis in the hell that this world is becoming whispers. “Prompto, it’s fine. It’s just a dream, wake up.”

 And he does. He wakes with a heart heavy as lead and fresh warmth beneath the tip of his nails. It takes him a breath (two, three, four…) to ground himself to this reality where the sun rests along his side in this rickety bed too small for two.

“Another nightmare.”

It’s not a question. Somewhere down the road of constant screaming, scratched up arms, and two in the morning breakdowns, it stopped being a question. But Prompto still nods, regret weighing down on his body like a kilogram of steel.

“Sorry, Noct, just give me a moment…”

Noctis doesn’t reply. He doesn’t comment about the newly opened wounds -- nor the fresh ones now adorning his arms like streamers -- covered in drying blood that will turn into new scabs Ignis will gaze upon with his eyes come daylight. They’ve been through this plenty of times already. They’ve been through this enough times for Noctis to be aware of Ignis and Gladio residing behind the door of their motel room, weapons drawn and hands twitching against the door, ready to burst in at a moment’s notice. Noctis understands their concern -- _Noct, this is reckless, surely one of us can sleep with Prompto instead_ \-- but it still frustrates him. Prompto is their friend, Prompto is _his_ friend, _his_ \--

**_Weapon._ **

Noctis frowns. He’s… aware of what Prompto is. He’s fought, he’s _killed_ what he could have been plenty of times. He’s seen every aftermath of every small battle, the way Prompto hangs back, dirt and oil stained boot gently nudging against the limp body of an MT. Does Prompto fear him in those moments? Does he see the way he can easily impale an MT without a second thought and wonder if one day he’ll be on the receiving end?

Never. Noctis grinds his teeth, a bad habit that leaves his jaw sore and a pain upon his temples. He would rather be on the receiving end of Prompto’s barrel than impale the tip of his sword against skin made out of constellations.

“Something tells me we won’t be sleeping in rooms for a while.” There it is. That laugh in an attempt to make things light. Noctis both despises and adores that laugh. “Gladio will probably be squeezing in between us at the tent too, the big guy is gonna roll over and trap me like a bug.”

Noctis purses his lips. Prompto never tells him what he dreams and he hates it. He hates that smile -- it grows tired and tired each passing time. He hates that dullness -- Prompto’s eyes once shined, where is that light? He hates the feeling in his chest -- help me save him, let me in. But he holds back. When Prompto is ready, then so will he.

“Who cares, they can camp and I’ll just buy us a room with my own gil.”

“But you’re broke, remember?”

Noctis does remember. He remembers surprise camera equipment and cactuar figurines, he remembers cookware he had not a single clue about and broadswords he could barely lift with one hand. He remembers it all but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Go back to sleep, Prompto.” He says instead -- the pang of uneasiness flashing upon Prompto’s eyes gripping his heart with a claw. “Or suit yourself and stay up, but don’t come whining to me when I wake you up early later for that photo op you saw earlier.”

“You? Waking up early?” Prompto laughs and just like that the shackles dragging both of them in a suffocating atmosphere release, and just like that they can breathe once more.

“Done it before, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, and thanks to who?”

“Go back to sleep, Prompto.” It’s lighter this time, a plea covered in a request that eases his heart the moment Prompto settles back down against his side, his warmth once more returning under the scratchy covers that barely provide any help in easing back into a restless sleep, but in the point they are now, any form is sleep might as well be better than none at all.

~

Prompto doesn’t know when it starts. The frantic twitching of his body, the sudden double in vision, the need to get his hands on something. It terrifies him, there’s a sudden screaming in his head that demands to be listened to, demands to be sated. His kills become more violent, more reckless. Where he would once jump back the line of attack to make way for Noct now becomes the weight of his boot slamming against the face of an MT, it’s limp body under him as he places bullet after bullet on it’s body with a small upwards twitch of his lips.

“He’s getting unstable, Noct.” He hears Gladio tell Noctis one day, the urgent tone to his whisper stabbing Prompto’s heart. “He nearly shot you in the head the other day.”

“It was an accident,” Noctis growls. “We all screw up, Gladio, remember that one time you nearly knocked down Ignis? Why is Prompto grazing me with a bullet any different?”

He hears Gladio sigh, the sound nearly lost in the frantic ringing -- or is it frantic screaming, getting louder and louder with every tremor that passes through his body -- residing within Prompto’s ears.

“You can’t keep standing up for him, Noct. We all know one day, the kid’s gonna snap. Iggy and I have been talking and… we think the time to decide how we handle Prompto should be soon.”

“Then how about we decide what to do with you two doubting him as well!?” Noctis’ voice is dripping in venom and it makes Prompto loathe himself more. “Prompto is our friend, he’s my friend, the hell you think you are talking about him as if he’s nothing more than a weapon!?”

“Noct--”

“No! We’re done here. Prompto stays by my side, end of discussion.”

Can weapons cry? Prompto wonders, the fresh trail of saltwater making a path down the apples of his cheeks. Can he still be considered a weapon when he feels too much and yet not enough? It’s confusing, his existence, but Noctis still wants him so maybe he isn’t too useless after all. Gladio and Ignis, however…

“I’m afraid things have grown rather complicated, Prompto.” Ignis startles him, his figure tall from his spot on top of the camp rune -- never has Ignis made Prompto feel smaller than he already is than in this moment. “Why don’t come up to join me in camp. The other two have stormed off, for now.”

Prompto recalls a time when he was younger, one of his early visits to the Citadel making his  nerves more a wreck than they already were. He recalls how easy it was to not pay any mind to where he was, messing around with Noctis and playfully shoving against each other in the halls. He recalls the way his heart shattered, joining the vase they had shoved over as well and onto the floor. Having to watch Ignis clean up the mess he made was one of the worst guilts he had ever felt, this moment feels the exact same way. Once again, Ignis is cleaning up his mess. Once again, Prompto has knocked over one of the world’s most valuable things.

“I need to leave.” Prompto fiddles with the fabric of his clothes, Ignis stare shaking him to the core as they sit in front of the campfire. “I should have left, that day you all found out.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“It felt like home.”

Ignis hums and Prompto doesn’t need to glance at him to know he’s lost in thought. Better than having him tell Prompto to pack his bags and leave before Noctis comes back, he decides.

“I hope this doesn’t intrude, Prompto, but do you happen to have any idea as to what the code on your wrist means?”

“Not entirely,” Prompto shakes his head. “I know it means I’m disposable, if that doesn’t sum me up then I don’t know what does.”

Ignis doesn’t join in Prompto’s self deprecating laugh, but that’s okay. He doesn’t expect Ignis to fully understand, even the advisor that knows all and tries to prepare for all needn’t always be prepared.

“So, defective,” Ignis leans back upon the camp chair, lost entirely in his thoughts. “All defective items fall apart at one point, Prompto. I sincerely hope you’re one in those million that doesn’t.”

Prompto doesn’t comment, for life tends to have a way of biting him in the ass when he hopes for the best.

~

“Prompto,” there’s a sharp bite to the way Gladio says his name. “Put the gun down.”

If there was a way to go back that day and see where it all went wrong to prevent it from happening, Prompto would. Instead he’s forced to live with this day in constant repeat, the way his finger twitched on the trigger, the way Noctis stared up at him from his spot on the ground with eyes that resemble the night sky blown wide.

“Prompto.” Ignis’ voice is more calm, but Prompto has known Ignis long enough to be aware that the moment he drops his guard, he’ll knock him into next week without a second thought. “Release your grip on the weapon and let it fall to the ground. We won’t warn you again.”

“Don’t.” Noctis interferes between the three of them and Prompto wants to laugh, because leave it to Noctis to still be on his side when he has the barrel of his gun aimed straight for his head. “Don’t either of you lay a hand on him. Prompto, it’s alright. I trust you.”

“Noct, have you lost your damn mind!?”

“Your Highness, we advised you of the day this would come.”

Their voices are there, Ignis and Gladio are surrounding them both but never has he felt more alone with Noctis in the world than he does now at this moment, surrounded by lifeless MTs and the smell of copper from their healing wounds gained from the brief battle that steered them off course.

Why? Prompto wants to cry out to his best friend. Why does he still trust him when he’s holding a gun to his head? Why does he still trust him when the source of Prompto’s constant nightmares is coming to life this very second?

He’s suffocating, he wants to scream but his body is not his own. No, if his body was his own he would be screaming at Noctis to leave. If his body was own, he would begging to Gladio to put an end to him. If his body was his own, he would be pleading to Ignis his last request to look after Noctis. But his body isn’t his own and he’s fighting his own instincts for control over it.

Prompto feels hot tears stream down his face and he can’t help but think, maybe he isn’t entirely too gone. He feels himself take a step towards the Prince and with a simple twitch of his hand what little hope he had vanishes. The others have summoned his weapons, he can tell from his peripheral vision, but Noctis head looks so tempting for his gun to press against. He’s right, that dark part of him grins, the sight of cool silver pressing up against the damp skin of  Noctis’ forehead does make his heart race. All it would take is one nudge of his finger for a beautiful crimson to join the palette, just one little twitch…

Eyes that await their fate open in that moment and look up at Prompto, and the world comes crashing down.

He collapses in front of Noctis, the grip once taking hold of his throat releasing as Prompto feels violent tremors course through his body and cries that sound foreign to his own ears escape in screams.

Both Gladio and Ignis stare, what the hell are they to do in this moment? Kill MTs, that’s their job. Defeat the Empire and take back their home? That’s their common sense. Watch the Prince they’re supposed to protect crawl over to his broken friend and cradle him in his arms when they all just saw him glitch into what could only be explained as a monster? All the training in the world couldn’t prepare them for a situation like this.

“I’m sorry, Noct.” They hear Prompto’s muffled cry against the fabric of his tear damped shirt. “I nearly killed you, I would have killed you!”

“But you didn’t,” Noctis smiles at the sight of death and tightens his embrace on it. “I trusted you, Prom, I knew you wouldn’t kill me.”

The sun sets on beneath the edge of the knife that day, for it gets shredded by the blade and never rises again.

~

“He’s glitching,” Ignis simply states one morning, his eyes sunken from the lack of sleep for how is one to catch any rest when the screams of death echo through the walls from the room next door. “His time may be near.”

“To do what? Self implode?” Gladio is bitter and exhausted as hell, apparently a mix of moods that result in a rather dark humor. “His Highness won’t let him go. Idiot still believes Prompto has some hope.”

“And you find yourself capable of doubting them?”

“I find myself capable of striking Prompto down if the need be.”

Ignis sighs, but he understand Gladio’s position. He is the King’s shield, after all. As to whether or not said shield would be able to truly come through if the need be, that’s another matter for another day Ignis would rather steer clear of for eternity, if possible.

~

Noctis often thinks back to the time where he would wonder what Prompto would dream. He think back to the way Prompto would always grow flustered and change the subject every time he would ask him. Now he can’t but wonder if his dreams consisted of this, of Noctis tending to the wounds he gains from Prompto’s breakdowns with a stash of potions set aside solely for these moments.

“You use to spend your gil on gifts.” Prompto tells him one night, his voice so tired and defeated that Noctis has to strain to hear. “Now you just spend them on potions you try to hide but Ignis knows about. We’re not fooling any of them, Noct.”

Noctis doesn’t respond as he approaches Prompto with a wet washcloth and grabs his hands into his own. They’re covered in his blood -- _To remind me of what I do to you_ , Prompto had told him -- and he wipes them down, staining the towel a dull red.

“I spend it on snacks too.” Noctis finally chimes in when he sees any possible evidence of another night terror and glitch gone from sight. “Those candies you liked the other day? Got them from Old Lestallum, they were pretty good. Might tell Specs to stop by the next time we drive through there--”

“Noct.”

“-- Maybe I could buy some for Iris too. She saw me give Talcott the Cactuar figurine and I kinda felt bad I didn’t take her anything. Girls like candy, right? Maybe Gladio’ll know what to give her--”

“We know I can’t stay.”

Noctis hands tighten around Prompto’s. Not tonight. He doesn’t want to have this argument again tonight where Prompto tells him he should leave and Noctis retorts with him leaving along his side then. He can’t give up on Prompto, he can’t give up on them. Noctis has already lost so much, he can’t lose more. He’d rather die than have to live in a world that keeps taking without mercy.

“I’m not getting rid of you, Prompto. Not now, not ever.”

~

Noctis hates the fate the Astrals give him every day of his life. He hates the paths he chooses from his own free will only to have them erased in a rush as he finds himself on what’s destined for him. The Astrals can all go fuck off, he yells at them the day they decide to watch him shove Prompto off the train, making him eat his own words.

He screams and fights that day with all those that get in his way, he shoves Gladio and nudges past Ignis when they try comforting him with weak excuses of it being for a best that makes bile rest in the back of his throat.

“For the best!?” Noctis tugs at his hair, strands screaming in protest as they’re torn from his skull. “It’s for your best! Not mine! I’m going to find him and I’m getting him back, everything else be damned.”

He wishes perhaps, unknowingly aware of the fate waiting for him which no one was prepared for, that he could have come back to this period of time and make his moments with Gladio and Ignis more peaceful ones. Perhaps then, they could have all set off after Prompto with a more balanced plan of how to get their friend back because even if they were weary of him, they both truly did love Prompto in their own way.

“Is this what some couples would call: a lover’s quarrel?” A voice that parents warn their children about listening to echoes in the room they’re all in within Zegnautus’ Keep. “Such a shame, is it not? To have your heart’s desire so out of your control.”

Noctis chews harshly on the inner skin of his cheek. He wants to yell, he wants to snap back, he wants to swear every foul mouthed thing he knows towards Ardyn, but doing so would merely amuse the Chancellor. Noctis hates the idea of being that jester’s show any longer, but no matter how badly he wishes to be off stage, he knows that it’s impossible being in his current predicament.

“Prompto,” he breathes out, his gut twisting at the sight of Prompto’s once twilight eyes now clouded in a red deeper than a pool of blood. “You remember us, right, buddy? I swore to you that no matter what I’d always be by your side, and I meant it. Here I am.”

“After he graciously shoved you off the train, of course.” Ardyn chimes in, Prompto’s response to that comment making Noctis hate the man even more. “Your King did the favor of betraying you first, don’t you think it’s only fair you repay the favor, dear Prompto?”

“Noct,” Gladio warns with a hand on Noctis’ shoulder as Prompto summons his gun. “You need to go. Let me and Iggy take care of Prompto, but you have to leave.”

“No!” Noctis shoves Gladio’s hand off him. “Ardyn has a hold of him but I can get through to him, I know I can!”

But a part of Noctis fears that he can’t. They’re all tired. Wounds and grazes from bullet marks adorning their skin from battles they encountered getting here and battles they’ve been going at with Prompto, each side waiting to see who makes the first strike. Prompto is still in there, Noctis believes. The trail of tears he caught streaming down his face as Noctis feel to his knees in pain at a bullet grazing his leg makes him believe so.

“Noct, Gladio is right.” Ignis sounds so drained, Noctis can only imagine how hard this entire fight has been for him, the lack of his sight making it harder for him to dodge Prompto’s aim.

“I can’t leave. Not him, not again.”

It is in that moment of resolve that Noctis recalls the way his father would shelter the city that was so precious to him with his own strength. It is within that small moment of resolve where Noctis chooses to shove Gladio and Ignis far from him, the crystal residing within the Keep giving him the strength he needs to recreate said barrier trapping him and Prompto inside in exchange of keeping Gladio and Ignis out.

“He isn’t going to stop until he completes what he’s meant to do, right?” Noctis’ laugh sounds so foreign to his own ears, for he sounds completely exhausted. Rest sounds so good right now, he feels his knees shake. “Let’s give him a reason to stop then.”

“Noct.” Ignis grounds out.

“The hell you think you’re doing?” Gladio warns, his fist coming down harshly against the barrier keeping them away from approaching the Prince. “Drop this shit and let us in. I’ll kill him, Noct, I’ll kill him if he does anything to you!”

Noctis pays no mind. Prompto is so close, he can feel him, he can feel his warmth. He approaches his friend because in this current moment, it’s just them. For so many years has Prompto given him shelter from his title, now Noctis wants to give him shelter from his. They’re not the Prince of Lucis and a defective MT weapon, they’re Noctis and Prompto, and that’s all Noctis has ever wanted to be with him for so long.

A bullet pierces his arm and Noctis bites down on a scream. He’s not truly there, he laughs to himself. Prompto would have never missed a one shot kill like the one he’s giving him now. No, this is all Ardyn’s doing, this is all Ardyn’s pleasure seeing Prompto impale Noctis with fresh bullet after bullet. It hurts, his body is screaming, but Noctis knows no bigger pain that not being able to see Prompto’s carefree smile again.

The world probably thinks of him as an idiot, Noctis thinks to himself as he grabs Prompto’s hand -- the one holding the gun woven with an intricate pattern Prompto had gotten choked up on the first time he saw it -- and leads it to rest the barrel of the gun upon his head, the very same way it happened months back.

“Gotta love the lighting to this moment, right Prom?”

Noctis grins. Prompto’s finger twitches.

It’s silent, the dropping of the barrier. It shimmers like glistening crystals falling all around them and if it weren’t for the current moment at hand, Prompto would have considered this a good photo op.

He’s gone, Prompto falls to his knees with a weak laugh at the sight of Noctis’ body on the ground. He’s… gone.

“Noct?” He lets himself crawl over to Noctis, every part of him blantly ignoring the warm pool blood surrounding them like rose petals. “Noct, I don’t think right now is a time for a nap. We got a world to save, remember?”

Prompto laughs louder, his whole body shaking with tremors as he clings Noctis’ body tight against his chest. It all feels like a dream. Prompto expects to open his eyes at any moment now, Noctis own staring back at him with a bittersweet love as he brushes back strands of blonde hair and whispers promises of their own world after this is all over against the crook of his neck. But it isn’t a dream. It’s a fate worse than a dream, it’s a reality, and it’s one where the sun has died and Prompto is left to explode like a star.

“Gladio, is Noctis…”

Ignis’ voice barely reaches Prompto’s ears through his own meltdown, his face burying itself in Noctis’ soft hair, drenched in a sticky warmth and salty wetness. He can’t bring himself to look at two people he still considers friends but probably think of him as nothing more than a monster. He simply awaits, let them put an end to him, Prompto begs. Let them do to him what they’ve murmured through thin motel walls for months now. At least then, it would be a fate easier to handle than glancing up the moment Ignis collapses to his knees, months of stress and pressure finally knocking him down.

Brief flashes of Noctis flash through Ignis’ blind eyes -- the first time he met the prince, the first time they spoke, the first time he was sworn into his name -- it all flashes in a rapid vigor as the palms of his hands press tightly against healing eyes that scream in pain.

Gladio watches the composed advisor, his collected friend, have everything he worked up to crumble the very same way their city did. His hands twitch in anger, his eyes feel hot, every part of him wants to scream. He’s supposed to be the King’s shield, but who is he to bear that title after watching his King die right before his eyes. Who is he now? What is he?

Their kingdom, gone. His family name and title, gone. His King, gone -- both the past and present King, twice a failure in his family name.

He stares at where Noctis lies, cradled in Prompto’s arms as he cries out for Noctis to wake up and feels his blood boil. Prompto should be considered a traitor, he should kill him where he stands, but no matter how badly he wishes to pound his face in, he can’t. For he look at Prompto and sees flashes of a bright smile cross his mind -- flashes of a grin that drags him into a pose because c’mon, big guy, the camera loves you!

Where is that boy? Where are those boys? The ones he would find sneak into the back of arcade machines with hormonal blushes on their faces after being sent by Ignis to find where Noctis was. Where are those boys that Gladio would catch sneaking out at dawn to take pictures; Noctis still way too tired out of his mind and Prompto wide awake and making conversation for two.

“He’s gone, don’t you see!? You killed him!” Gladio rips Prompto off Noctis’ body, the front of his chest covered in red that fuels the anger bursting out of him. Those boys… “Noct is gone all because your weak ass refused to fight back some shitty control.” Gladio wishes for those boys to return. “Why don’t you get out of my sight, Prompto, before I find another reason to pound your face in.”

Prompto stumbles, he gapes, he shakes. He can’t bring himself to leave, he can’t. Leaving means leaving Noctis behind. Leaving means never seeing Ignis or Gladio again. Leaving means breaking the promise he made, ever at their sides.

So he lets them leave instead. He watches as Gladio rises Noctis’ limp body in his arms, watches him tells Ignis to get up, guiding him with his voice as they walk away. He watches as they grow smaller, smaller, gone… Every part of them and Noctis, now gone.

That day, Noctis isn’t the only one that died. They all did.

~

In the last days, back when all of Eos still had even the slightest bit of sun left on it’s land, tales of a boy that would walk with nothing but the clothes on his back and a camera around his neck; resting where his once non shattered heart was would be told. The tales spoke of the way he would wander all around Eos, calling out to a name that would not be spoken of for months, with brief instances where a ghost of a smile would caress his lips -- _Iggy, right here! This is the place Noct and I spotted for the photo op!_

“I’m awfully sorry, but I ain’t spot a single sight of that boy since the last time he did me a favor.” Cindy wipes back strands of grease stained hair, it’s getting way too long for her liking. “Perhaps you can ask paw-paw, he ain’t good at showing it but he sure is concerned about the lot of ya.”

“I thank you for the advice, Miss Cindy.” Ignis nods to her. “But I would hate to be an inconvenience, after all it’s just me at this current moment seeking out Prompto. Gladio seems to be a tad bit… unwilling yet.”

“Well, if ya say so, just don’t be a stranger, ya hear? And please do tell that boy to come home. I miss having my lil helper around making life easier.”

Ignis bares Cindy farewell and with what memory he has of the world before it was taken away from him, he makes it back to Lestallum where they reside in surviving longer nights and enjoying even shorter days.

“You’re wasting your damn time, Ignis.” Gladio snaps at him. “You don’t have a single clue as to where the hell Prompto is and quite frankly I don’t see why you would want to find him.”

“He’s still our friend, Gladiolus.”

“Bullshit, he’s a traitor.” His words are poisonous, but Ignis has spent enough years to know how this Amicita works. “The kid can go roll into a ditch and wait for his death for all I care.”

A liar. Gladio’s mind whispers to him, a filthy liar unable to cope with losing two people he cared about in one go. Unable to simply cope with the fact that he failed and they’re gone, they’re both gone.

“Save your breath, Ignis.” He’s tired. They’re both tired and incomplete. “You’re never going to find Prompto.” No matter how much we both look, he leaves hanging on the tip of his tongue.

~

“Kinda wonder where people are getting the idea that the days are getting shorter when it feels like there’s always so much sun, right, buddy?” Prompto allows his feet to dangle above the sea of Galdin Quay, the warmth of the day surrounding him in a peaceful bliss. “Isn’t this what you would call perfect fishing weather?”

“Every day is perfect fishing weather when you’re good enough, Prompto.”

“Ah, of course. Who am I to judge the King of fishing.” He mocks Noctis, his grin wide when he sees Noctis do a simple roll of his eyes.

“Don’t make me push you off the pier as bait. I’m tempted, Prom, you’ll be like an oversized chocobo fishing lure.”

“Oh, ha! Ha!”

They share a laugh as Prompto starts to see the sight before him start to blur. He hates these moments, they just never feel like enough to him anymore.

“Guess my time is up. See you again in a bit?”

“Yeah,” Noctis’ smile is just as warm as he remembers it. “We’ll go hit up the arcade with Gladio and Ignis. Makes is better than having them come hunt us down and having a repeat of last time.”

Prompto flushes when he remembers the incident, but nods. And just like that, his eyes open, a crick in his back from the hard ground and the sky just as dark as when he let himself pass out.

“Slept through the day again,” he picks up a small berry from a makeshift pouch resting next to him. “Using poisonous berries to pass out and see the gang again, you’ve reached a new low, Prompto.”

He feels his stomach growl and ignores his body’s need for proper food, a hand doing nothing but shove more purple tainted berries into his mouth. Proper food means he throws everything back out, and throwing everything back out means the toxin of the fruit leaves his body. With the current situation he’s in, those berries are everything he has left.

In the dreams -- where the sun shines bright and he ignores that his only way of getting there is through slowly poisoning himself with toxic plants -- Noctis is there and he’s happy, Ignis can see the world again, and Gladio can bask under the stars with a good book in hand. It’s like heaven, Prompto smiles to himself as the world once again starts to blur. But he knows it’s not for if it were Noctis would not be so carefree, he would be upset and telling Prompto to stop, to live.

But Prompto doesn’t want to live, not in a world where the one thing that did in fact help him do so was gone -- taken, slaughtered by his own hands. He can’t help but laugh as he feels his consciousness begin to slip once more. Only a handful of people left in all of Eos to carry Noct’s legacy forward and here he is, the weaker link waiting to die in this ditch he’s resided himself to living in. Noctis would surely be proud of him, ready wherever he is to praise him on throwing away his life. Prompto could care less, he’d do it all again for him, he’d do anything for him for his Prince is worth all of Eos, he’s worth all of Prompto’s life. In a place where the world saw him as nothing more than another insignificant piece of dust, Noctis saw him as more, Noctis gave him his all.

With a steady breath, he lets himself rest. He lets himself sleep for in this world, Prompto is only alive for brief moment of a few minutes. In this world he is not aware of the sun no longer rising nor his friends -- hurt by their circumstances but still looking for him. He lived his life, Prompto resigns. It’s not as if he was meant to live long anyway.

When twilight eyes spread the wings of their lashes, the first thing they notice is the rain. It never rains. That’s the whole reason he constantly sends himself to the land where he dreams and his friends are well, his friends. The second thing he notices is Noct. He’s come before to meet him in whichever camp rune he gets sent to, but this feels different. The trickling of the rain feel so realistic it’s like a lucid dream to Prompto.

“Hey, buddy!” He strides over to Noct with a bounce to his step. “Gonna go fishing today? Or is it like the arcade like we promised? Kinda seems like perfect arcade weather with all this rain.”

He watches as Noctis sets down his camera, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips as his fingertips trace the outline of it. Prompto doesn’t know the moment he realizes this isn’t a dream. This isn’t the same escape he’s been using to cope for months and avoid his own destruction in a fate worse than poisonous berries. But in this moment, when Noctis looks up to meet his eyes, he realizes he’s no longer trapped. This is his freedom, this is his life, Prompto is reborn and he’s complete once again.

“I was kinda hoping you would at least wait a couple more years before meeting me again.” Noctis gives him the same bittersweet smile they would share behind closed doors and Prompto feels the ground move from beneath him once again -- falling, falling, he never stopped falling.

Noctis, for once in a lifetime, looks reborn as well. There’s no tired hunch to his posture, no sunken look in his eyes, no weight clawing at his back and drawing him down under. He’s here, he’s warm, he’s bright -- so, so bright -- that Prompto feels tears burn in his eyes; his hands scrubbing the salt from the corner of them, he’s too overwhelmed, he’s drowning.

“Noct…” Prompto’s whisper cracks, he’s scared shitless, he’s terrified that if he speaks loud enough the illusion will break and he’ll be thrown into hell once more. “So, it happened, huh?”

“Yeah.” Noctis emits a tired laugh. “Why didn’t you wait, Prom? Ignis and Gladio, they’re… they’re worried about you. They’ve been _looking_ for you, but now they’re still in Eos and you’re…”

“Dead.” Prompto finishes for him, feeling only an ounce of regret when he sees the way Noctis flinches. It’s alright, he’ll grow used to the fact with time. Prompto’s already used to the fact and it just happened. He’s dead. He’s dead and alone and in some ditch now defenseless for whatever fate has for his only physical connection left to Eos.

“But we’re together now.” He shrugs with a smile. “I don’t regret it, Noct, I just regret not coming in a way that would have you greet me with a smile.”

“I know.” Noctis takes his hand within his own the same way he would back then in those nights where he would tend to their mutual wounds. “Got every day to greet you with a smile now, though.”

“Every day.” Prompto echoes with a knot in throat, “Forever.”

It’s all too much and yet not enough. But it’s perfect, they’re perfect. They got an eternity to be together and an eternity to wait for the others. Prompto’s terrified of the moment that day comes, unsure of what he’ll say but Noctis’ warmth grounds him and in that moment he decides they’ll be fine. Let forever throw everything it has at them once more, they’ll be the kings of their own path this time. And they’re gonna make it a hell of a great fate.


End file.
